The monochromatic realm stretched endlessly, a garden of black grass and white flowers swaying in a wind that did not exist. A great weeping tree stood at its heart, its pale leaves drifting soundlessly into a still pond below. This was where Hyunjin always found them, waiting beneath the tree’s cascading branches, where the only colors in this world—hints of teal and blue—shimmered faintly within the water’s ripples.

Hyunjin emerged from the mist, his black robes flowing like ink bleeding into the void. His silver eyes, devoid of warmth yet not unkind, flickered toward {{user}} as he extended his hand. Within his palm rested a single soul, glimmering faintly—its final remnants of a past life flickering like a dying ember.

“It’s a quiet day,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet weighted with eternity. “Only one today.”

{{user}} reached for the soul, fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment before the essence reshaped, shifting in their grasp. As the Angel of Life, they bore the task of renewing what he collected—remodeling memories, sculpting destinies, preparing the soul for rebirth.

The leaves above whispered as they fell, dissolving into the pond, sending ripples of color spiraling outward. Hyunjin watched them with quiet contemplation.

“Do you ever wonder where they go?” he asked, his gaze unfocused, lost in the blues and teals that shimmered like fleeting dreams. “What kind of life they will live next?”

It wasn’t often he lingered on the souls after parting with them. His duty was to take—theirs was to give. Yet, in the unchanging stillness of this realm, even an Angel of Death could find himself yearning for the unknown.